Safest Place to Hide
by Agent Xero
Summary: In a desperate attempt to save Olivia, Peter enters her mind to try and bring her back, with the help of Walter's home made LSD, only to find out that the woman he's trying to save, may not want to be saved at all...  my version of upcoming ep "LSD"
1. Part One

I got this idea in seeing the promo for the upcoming episode, "LSD", so I present you with my version, in anticipation of the upcoming FRINGEception episode! (can't take credit for that, someone else already came up with the name!)

I'm looking into making this into either two or three parts, depending on how it flows.

For anyone following "Crash into You", that'll be updated soon as well! I just couldn't let this go!

Rated: T, for language. If an M happens to pop up I'll mark it, for all you smut lovers out there ;)

Summary: In a desperate attempt to bring Olivia back to him, Peter enters her mind to save her before it's too late, but while doing so reveals secrets of her mind and her heart that bring Peter to realize that the woman was trying to save, may not want to be saved at all.

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><p><strong>Safest Place to Hide<strong>  
>Fanfiction by: White Time Ranger<p>

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><p><em>Part One<em>

He didn't think it was possible, but when Peter awoke in the sweltering hotel room, he knew it was. In some hare-brained rescue attempt, Walter had overdosed him and Olivia's unconscious body with LSD, giving him access to her thoughts, her memories, her fantasies and her secrets. He would do anything to bring back her consciousness, back to him, even if it meant subjecting himself to one of Walter's experiments. The situation certainly qualified. The sun sneaked past through the blinds in the room, adding to the building heat he found himself in. Opening his eyes slowly, he rubbed them, momentarily forgetting where he was. But it had worked, he was sure of it. Walter's experiment actually worked, and if he was correct, he was somewhere in her mind, her memories blended together to create a world that was uniquely her own. After all, Olivia was counting on him.

The first thing that caught Peter's attention was the agonizing headache that crawled through his skull, a nagging, dull ache at the base of his brain that made him rub his temples furiously in a desperate attempt to rid himself of the pain. That was the last time he'd ever take any drugs Walter gave him, especially his own concoction of home remedies. Never again. The second thing that made Peter's face scrunch in curiosity was exactly where he was. The wallpaper was pealing, he guessed because of the age and the heat. The room smelled of dirt, sand and aging wood, an unpleasant yet familiar scent that wrinkled his nose. The once white wall now browned with soot, the room tinted yellow from the sun.

"I'm here," he hollered to no one in particular, knowing that Walter was monitoring him heavily in his drug-induced coma. The single box mattress squeaked against his weight, swaying back and forth as he placed his feet on the ground, hoping the headache wouldn't last while he was here.

"_Peter, can you hear me?"_ Walter's voice blasted in his ear, almost like an earpiece, except the volume was way too loud, a feedback type noise made Peter cringe and throw his hands over his ears.

"Yes, Walter, I hear you, too loud and clear. Tone it down a bit, will you?" Peter grumbled and removed his long sleeve shirt, leaving him in a t-shirt.

"_My apologies, son, I was just checking to see if you were alive. Can you identify where you are?"_

"Yea," he said slowly and stood, recognizing the room immediately. "I'm in the hotel in Baghdad, where Olivia and I first met three years ago." He made his way slowly down the hallway and tip-toed down the winding stairs to see the lobby was filled with life, projections or people, he wasn't quite sure. Either way he had to find Olivia and talk to her, to bring her back to reality, or their perception of it at least.

Exiting the hotel lobby he found himself dead center in the middle of Boston, the streets busy with life as far as he could see. Sirens and horns blasted around him as an SUV came flying around the corner, chasing a car as it wheeled quickly, narrowly avoiding the people in the crosswalk. The sun shined brightly above him, its rays warmed his skin, a rather nice contradiction from the harsh, cold winters in Boston.

Olivia was more of a summer girl, and that much he knew. When they weren't swamped with cases or she needed to clear her head, she'd take a drive to the beach and sit in the car, watching the ice cold waves crash over the beach. He knew she hated the cold. Peter knew that he always hated seeing Olivia in that thick winter coat, bundled up, not revealing her beautiful self to the world. This summer, he planned to escape with her for a week to the Bishop's beach house, a relaxing getaway they both needed. He couldn't count the number of times he imagined her sunbathing on a beach in bright green bikini.

In a short distance he spotted the federal building and began to walk there. Where else to start the search for a Federal Agent than the FBI Headquarters itself? He shrugged and began his walk down the street, observing casually of the world around him. It was similar, and yet, slightly different. On the building around him large what appeared to be television screens illuminated the buildings, their closed captions speaking for the newscasters. Others had the weather patterns, and another with a recent sports update.

He grinned curiously at the title. _'Jacksonville predicted to win the 2012 Superbowl, says the Coach. Detroit has no chance.'_ He never pictured Olivia as a football fan; she expressed no interest in sports whenever they would go out to eat and there was an update. It would seem fitting to root for her hometown; most people he knew did that. Of course, he'd have to agree. Detroit certainly did not stand a chance. He smiled lightly at the thought and continued.

All around him were the similar scrolling marquees to those on the other side, scrolling updates in stocks, advertising clothes and cars and products that all were recognizable to belong to their side. A chill ran down his spine as he picked up on more hints of things that belonged to the other side. Even the buildings looked different, more dynamic and seemingly futuristic compared to the structures in Boston. Did she prefer it on the other side, or was her mind intrigued that much by their advances in technology?

Peter stopped as he walked past a pay phone, although it was like no pay phone he had ever seen, over here at least. There were the small cuff links that the people Over There used to communicate, as well as a small holographic screen displaying the Yellow Pages. On a hunch, he stepped over to one and brought the cuff to his ear. He brought a hesitant finger to the screen and touched it as it came to life, and a holographic keyboard formed in front of him.

_Please enter the name of the person you wish to contact._

Biting his lip he typed in her name, being sure to add the words 'Agent' and 'FBI' in there somewhere, hopefully to narrow down the search parameters. After a few beeps and clicks, the screen popped up with nothing, no results showed. He repeated the search, using just her name this time. Like the first, nothing appeared. Frustrated, Peter left and walked the next three blocks until he entered the grand building, its blue and black windows reflecting the city around him.

Making his way up the stairs he entered the building, and made his way up to the twenty-second floor where the Fringe division was located. His pulse began to quicken as he waited in anticipation of seeing her, his Olivia, not the spirit of Bell using her as his summer house, just his Olivia. He had missed her tremendously over the past few weeks Bell had been there; his longing for her touch, for her lips and her smile was overwhelming.

The elevator doors opened and Peter jumped out, trying to remind himself to slow down. He walked past the doors and rounded the hallway, entering their little cove. Inside was a rush of activity, as it normally was. He took it all in for a moment, and followed the right wall to the office, the last one in the corner. The door was open. His stride increased as he rounded the corner, his smile wide as he stuck his head in, only to sigh defeated. She wasn't there.

"Shit," Peter mumbled. Looking around the room, making sure no eyes were on him he entered and closed the door behind him, clicking it quietly shut in a room that was screaming with activity, afraid someone would hear it. He stood with his back against the wood and took a breather. Making his way towards her desk he sat in her chair, his mind racing.

The computer was exactly like the one from the other side, futuristic and very cool. The pictures on her desk resembled that of her real office. There was Rachel, Ella, an old photograph of her mother and father, the eight ball Ella brought her three years ago, an extra magazine clip. An old fashioned Rolodex covered the corner, the item he found most curious. His gently fingered the cards, scrolling through them. He stopped abruptly, pulling one out and reading it over, her handwriting clear as day.

_Doctor Walter Bishop: Civilian consultant to the FBI. Expert on the unknown and the impossible. Last known location: MIT. Office number B201-A. Cuff ID: 547-678-0912. Pager code: 1AEQ-5924-G6. Emergency phone: 234-657-9070_

Peter continued to search for his name, but to no avail. He couldn't wrap his head around the fact that Walter had a card and he didn't. Maybe Olivia kept with her on her person in case she needed it- needed him. He rummaged through her desk a little more, hoping to find more information on her whereabouts, or at least a way to contact her. What he did find, was a planner. He had never known Olivia to carry one; she went with the flow of the day.

Suddenly the door flew open as a man entered, and Peter froze. "Liv, I didn't know you were-" Charlie Francis stood with his hand on the door as his eyes connected with Peter's. Peter, however, couldn't decide who was more shocked. Charlie to see him, or him to see Charlie. "How did you get in here?" Charlie asked, amazed to see him standing there.

Peter had his hands in front of him, standing slowly. "Charlie, you know me, it's Peter. I was looking for Olivia."

The files Charlie had in his hand dropped and a split second later Peter found himself staring down the barrel of Charlie's gun. "Who the hell are you and how do you know Agent Dunham?" Peter stood still, unsure of how to answer. "Get on the ground, son," Charlie said calmly, allowing Peter to slowly sink to his knees. "You're under arrest for trespassing-"

The second Peter felt the cuff he turned the tables, pulling Charlie over his shoulder and floored him, cuffing him to the bar around her desk, grabbing his gun and bolted while Charlie called for help, the office in chaos turned to chase Peter, his heart racing. It was a trick Olivia showed him. Smart and effective.

"_Peter what's happening?"_ Walter screamed in his year, alarmed by the sudden jump in his vitals.

"I think I just pissed off Olivia's version of the FBI," Peter huffed as he jumped down the stairs, taking each landing one at a time. He burst through the doors and sprinted down the street, trying to lose himself in the crowd. He continued to run until his chest ached, his lungs starved of oxygen. Turning into an alleyway he stopped behind a dumpster and tried to catch his breath, his hands and feet tingling alongside the dizziness he felt from the adrenaline rush and the almost six blocks of a dead sprint.

He collapsed against the dumpster, breathing heavily. After a few moments to trying to avoid a fit of hyperventilation his breathing eased, the oxygen deprived limps began to calm and his heart relaxed. Considering himself somewhat safe he pulled the day planner he took from her office and began to read through it. It was filled with different items and times. Appointments, meetings, notes from her visits with family members in regards to cases. One appointment, however, caught his eye.

_BBQ at 241 Shadowgrove Circle, Tarrytown. Casual Dress. Bring potato salad and Coors Light. Starts at 6pm. _

He looked at the clock across the street from where he sat, waiting for the flood of police officers to catch up to him. It was just before three. He hadn't missed it, thankfully. Peter could go there and find her, explain to her this was all just a dream. He could hold her, hug her, and do whatever he felt necessary to bring her home. Maybe he could finally find her. Although, Tarrytown was in New York. Maybe it wasn't. This was Olivia's mind after all.

His breathing had calmed significantly as he sat and read through the rest of her planner. No phone numbers or anything was listed, but he found Walter's name listed among the contacts. Still, Peter had not found his name anywhere. Closing his eyes he huffed, bouncing his head slightly against the dumpster in frustration. That's when he heard it, his ears hummed to life.

Nothing. The alley around him was dead silent, with no sign of life except for him.

By now he was sure the police would have found him, he was sitting there for at least ten, fifteen minutes. That should have been enough time for officers to flood the streets and find his obvious hiding spot. But there was absolutely no noise other than the sounds of the city. He stood curiously in case someone had spotted him, but there was no one, only the people walking on the street, their eyes focused ahead of them. Why hadn't the authorities been alerted to him sneaking into the Federal building, trespassing into her office and theft?

He stepped out from behind his safe hold and walked towards the alley, his sense on high alert. But like the noise he heard, the streets were no different than he had left them fifteen minutes ago. It was strange, weird and eerie. In reality, quite literally, you'd get shot before even getting out the door, but this had him spooked. He flipped through her planner again, finding this Walter's location. He had read it right the first time: MIT. He didn't understand. Olivia knew his lab was a Harvard. Walter hadn't been in attendance at MIT in years. This, he decided, would be his first stop.

He hailed a cab and stepped in, greeted by a friendly gentleman in the front seat. "Where can I take you to, my friend?" the man turned around, his face thin but shapely. He was darker skinned, his hair combed through and his face grinning with personality.

"MIT, or someplace close to it, please," Peter said. The cab driver nodded happily and clicked the fair marker. "How far are we?"

"About ten, fifteen minutes, not long." The man said. "You look like you've been through hell," he commented, a chuckle escaping from his throat.

Peter huffed. "Just been a rough day."

The driver laughed in agreement. "I hear you. My wife's aggravated at me again, forgot to bring home the milk last night. The say she says _honey_ when she's angry makes me cringe," he commented, "which normally means I'm throw into the doghouse, you know?"

Peter nodded, smiling. "My girlfriend does the same thing. She has his thing with the corners of her mouth when she gets mad. It's kind of adorable, actually."

The driver grinned. "She's lucky though, you seem like a solid guy. What's your name?"

"Peter."

"Henry," he nodded and tipped his head towards his passenger. "Pleasure to meet you, Peter." The rest of the drive was silent as Peter continued to observe his surroundings. The city, in her mind, was small, the basics, he guessed, was all she wanted. They rounded onto a highway and over the crest Peter saw the familiar buildings of MIT come into the horizon, the prestigious buildings accented by the high sun. Minutes later they pulled into the parking lot.

"Mind if you wait a few minutes, Henry? I'll make it worth your while," Peter asked, hoping his powers of persuasion were still applicable. The cab driver simply nodded and Peter made his way towards the familiar campus. He certainly had a history here. Faking a degree, publishing papers, even teaching classes, he had almost done it all, except the getting caught part wasn't part of his master plan. Win some, lose some.

Walking down the winding hallways he finally found what he was looking for. The door in front of him read his father's name, in large, important block letters, and all his degrees behind it. It reminded Peter of alphabet soup.

He knocked, and was told to enter. Doing so took his breath away. Sitting at the desk, grading papers was his father. And at the same time, it wasn't. The Walter Bishop sitting in front of him was smooth on the skin, easy on the eyes, and his hair pressed. He almost reminded him of Walternate. But what set him aside was the smile as Walter lifted his head and smiled.

"Hello, what can I do for you?" He asked, genuine.

Peter went to open his mouth but stopped. Something was different. "I…" he paused, thinking quick on his feet. "I'm currently taking your biochem seminar, Dr. Bishop, I missed class because of a family emergency last week and was wondering if I could get a quick outline of what I missed."

Walter smiled at him. "Of course, please, sit! Do you need paper? What is your name, son, so I can make an adjustment to my roster later?"

"Peter B-" he stopped. Probably not the best thing to do, using his name. "Dunham. Peter Dunham." God, Olivia would either kill him or laugh in hysterics to hear that.

"Sit, please. Mr. Dunham." Walter gestured and Peter sat, pretending to listen to a quick outline. All the while he glanced around the room. This Walter, Olivia's version, had numerous plaques from different schools with different levels of degrees. He was still the Walter Peter had known, the warm, kind, quirky soul that he knew Olivia admired. In her mind, it seemed, Walter wasn't locked up at St. Claire's. He was sane, teaching and joyful. "I believe that is all, do you have any questions?"

Peter jumped back to a semi-reality. "Umm, no, I think that's it." A picture on Walter's desk caught his attention: his mother, Walter and a younger boy Peter guessed to be him. "That's a nice family, Dr. Bishop. You must be proud of your son."

The warm smile he had faded, replaced by a darker grin. Peter had a sudden sinking feeling as to what that meant. "Thank you, but my son died several years ago, when he was just a boy, a rare genetic disease. I researched for years but never found a cure."

"I'm sorry," Peter choked, suddenly understanding why he couldn't find any record of himself in Olivia's mind. In her subconscious he never came over from the other side. There was no other side. His heart sunk at this realization. "Excuse me," he said and jumped up, not paying attention to what Walter had said to him. His stomach lurched.

He didn't exist to Olivia at all. Had she forgotten, or was he deliberately absent? There was no other universe; there was no lab at Harvard. He hadn't seen Astrid at the FBI either, perhaps she was somewhere else? There was no secrecy of the Fringe division, if it even was present. Out of everything, one agonizing aspect tore at his heart.

In Olivia's mind, there was no Peter Bishop.

Peter turned and walked with his head between his legs, his feet dragging slowly behind him as he fought back a small whisper of tears. Had she been that mad about the shape shifters that she completely locked him out of her mind? Did she still resent him for not realizing that the other Olivia had invaded her life? Had she fallen out of love with him? Impossible. She couldn't have. She can't.

He opened the door of the cab and Henry greeted him with a smile. It faded at the look of dismay on Peter's face. Before he could ask, Peter spoke. "241 Shadowgrove Circle. It's in Tarrytown, please," his voice was rough, gravely with emotion. Henry said nothing, nodded, and they began to drive.

His mind reverted immediately back to the night in February: the night that she confessed that she needed him as much as he did her. That she was terrified of their relationship, that she couldn't open up to him and let Olivia see exactly who she was outside of her normal self. The following night that she came to his house with a bottle of whiskey, that night she changed. She opened up to him. She wanted what he wanted from whatever it was they had in this awkward, sexually tensed relationship.

After only a sip or two, she took his hand and lead upstairs. That night, that beautiful, haunted night, gave Peter the key to her soul, to the beautiful, passionate, driven woman that Olivia Dunham was. They made love over and over, never getting enough of each other's body, the feel and the desire to fill a long-awaited void in their hearts. He remembered she cried afterwards, not out of pain or sorrow, but of pure, heavenly bliss. She could fix herself, to let Peter in and discover who she was. And for whom she was, Peter wanted her. The next morning they awoke arms and legs tangled in the other, their lips barely an inch apart.

The next few weeks after that were nothing short of a dream. They spent almost every night together in her apartment. They decided Peter's house wasn't the best option, not only for Walter's prying ears but the way Walter would tease Peter and embarrass Olivia over their noisy late night activities. They'd eat, have a few drinks and make love. In her bed, on the couch, the shower, the kitchen, he couldn't get enough of her. They were almost caught in his office by Astrid and Walter, but had just enough time to make themselves less conspicuous, although he was sure Walter knew exactly what they were doing.

They were like two love-struck teenagers, a craving for the other like oxygen, always it was never enough. Each time they finished, she would shine, her eyes casting emerald waves of color everywhere, her stress relieved leaving her pure and all his. Once the bat of hormones has subsided, and their craving for whiskey and sex declined, she began to open up to him even more. She even let her hair down, and kept that top button opened a bit more, enticing Peter every chance she could.

That came crashing down when Bell surfaced, taking his Olivia way, just as he began to see what made her the way she was, and suddenly, all that seemed imaginary. He couldn't look at her without hearing Bell, the man who took away his happiness. The brief stent two weeks ago where Olivia came back teased him even more. He couldn't even kiss her. He tried it once, begging Bell to try, but there was nothing. It didn't feel or taste like her. It wasn't Olivia. And yet, it was.

The ride to Tarrytown went quicker than he thought, for the next thing Peter knew Henry called his name and they arrived in front of a house, medium in size and decorated head to toe with beautiful, colorful flowers that accented the wearing white and green paint. Handing Henry a few twenties Peter stepped out, not listening to the words of encouragement that he gave, and drove away. His eyes remained focused on the delicately crafted masterpiece in front of him. He had seen this place before; in a picture Olivia kept at her apartment, of when she was younger.

Her mother's house.

Music began to bounce from the back yard as more cars pulled up behind him. 6pm, he figured. Looking past the screen door he found no one in site. Carefully, quietly, he made his way up the faded red wood stairs and entered. The smell of cinnamon and sugar and roses tickled his throat. The air was light with laughter as he caught the site of people outside on the desk, kids running around and adults popping open a wine bottle.

"Olivia?" he called up the stairs quietly. The only response he got was an echo of his own voice from the old house. Peter grabbed the railing and quietly made his way upstairs and turned left, finding the only open door on the floor. Her name was written in crayon on a piece of construction paper and taped to the door. Pushing it ajar he entered her room, a small, bright sanctuary that was entirely her.

Her walls were a light blue, her carpet a creamy, pale yellow, curtains white as snow. In the corner was a desk, a laptop resting on it. Two bedside tables had a lamp and a clock. Pictures hung all over the walls, and posters of sunsets, beaches and a few boy bands Peter cared not for. Her bed had a light green and white comforter, two pillows and a worn stuffed dog sat in the middle, accented by a red squishy pillow. He sat on her bed; the mattress was soft and bouncy. Placing his head on her pillow he inhaled. It even smelled like her, a sweet honey and lavender scent that made his taste buds water for her, and a tear trickle down his cheek.

He missed her so much. With his head on her pillow he almost felt her next to him, her arm draped lazily across his chest, her fingers gently entwined with him, just like every Sunday when they slept in, her breath sweeping gently over his cheeks, making him smile as she snored softly, her face at peace. He loved her snoring.

Through the open window he heard an angelic sound that made him jump and rush to it, careful to hide just out of reach. Outside, he saw her, saw his Olivia bright and smiling, a glass of wine in her hand. She was wearing a beautiful pink and white sun dress, her feet were bare against the soft grass, and her hair down, and draping over her shoulders acting as a shawl, hiding her freckle soaked shoulders from the world. Kids ran around the backyard, playing on the old, creaking swings.

This was her family, or what she remembered as her family, he decided. Standing next to her no doubt was Rachel, and he spotted Ella running around playing with her cousins. Across the patio an older man stood at a grill, happily flipping burgers and sipping from a beer bottle, his laughter bellowing across the music as he chatted with more people Peter could not identify. Sitting at a table, underneath an umbrella was another older woman Peter felt he recognized, but deep down in her gut he knew who it was.

That's when he felt a set of eyes on him. Glaring up from two floors below, he saw Olivia's eyes trained directly on him, the look on her face unreadable by any context. Shock? Fear? Disbelief? Anger? Rachel patted her shoulder pulling her attention towards her sister and taking that advantage he jolted, leaving her room and her house and disappeared into the bushes across the street quickly before she could go upstairs and look, or even worse, discover him invading her mind.

He waited for what felt like decades for someone to emerge from the house looking for its intruder, but no one came. Feeling his heart beat drop he made his way along the tree line, careful to stay just in the shadows to watch her, to watch his Olivia's dreams literally unfold before his very eyes. Her smile radiated like the sun, her eyes glowing and her face was perfect. He could die a happy man watching her and feel completely satisfied.

He knew who the older woman was; it was her mother, and the man cooking, her biological father. She looked like them. She had her mother's young face, and her father's shoulders and hands. Cousins, aunts, uncles, and friends all crowded around her happily, their sweet words inaudible to him as they whispered and smiled at her, hugging her. This party, whatever the occasion had brought so much joy to her life; he hadn't been able to remember the last time he saw her that happy.

But what he saw next shattered his heart. The crowd turned towards the stairs where a dashing man stood with a large smile on his face, and a Marine uniform resting on his body, his eyes glaring down towards where Olivia stood, and threw her hands to her face in surprise. She zipped through the crowd and jumped into the man's arms, cupping his face happily.

That's when Peter literally felt his heart break and the tears well up in his eyes. He knew who this man was; an unresolved emotional tie that he was never really sure of Olivia was over. His suspicions were now confirmed.

John Scott, the man who betrayed his country, betrayed Olivia, then surprisingly turned out to be part of a secret government organization, pulled Olivia close into a loving embrace. She pressed her lips firmly against his; capturing his lips in a beautiful kiss that sent hollers of approval through the crowd. Peter saw the corners of her lips turn upward into a smile, her hands placed firmly around John's strong neck. He knew that kiss. It was their kiss, when he knew Olivia was truly happy.

"_Peter, what can you see? What's happening, son, you're driving the monitors crazy!"_

Peter sat on a fallen tree and stared at the scene, his heart breaking into a thousand pieces, the shards to glass cut him deeply, and the tears began rolling down his cheeks and he swallowed a large lump in his throat, dry and coarse. A banner was revealed above where Olivia and John stood, kissing happily as confetti rained down around them and the words clear as day. This was no ordinary barbeque.

It was an engagement party.

"She still loves him," Peter whispered to himself, his hands shaking. Deep down, Olivia still loved the man who deceived her not once, but twice. "After all these years, after all the deception, the heart break, she," he sniffed, "she still loves him. John." He watched, his heart wrenching in despair as he kissed her again, slowly, the diamond she wore on her left hand sparkling against his heart, the ax to his inner soul. He wiped his nose, trying to gain his composure.

Peter sat frozen in the woods outside her house despite the warmth of the day, too cold and numb to move. His eyes trained on her. "Look how happy she is," he whispered to the trees. "She has everything she ever wanted here with her. She has her family, she has her friends," he paused, his stomach heaved. "She has John. They're engaged. She still loves him."

"_Peter, we need to bring her back, or she'll be lost. We need to save her." _

"What if she doesn't want to be saved, Walter," his voice was low as he slouched, slipping off the log, feeling drunk with sorrow. "If she decides to come back, what would the damage be? She'd be mad at me for pulling her away from the only mindset that's ever made her truly happy."

"_You don't know that. She loves you, Peter, we all know that. Olivia knows she loves you. You must find a way." _

He drew in a deep breath and tried to calm his buzzed nerves. Olivia was counting on him to bring her back, but the question that now remained, was did she even want to be saved? The night they slept together for the time he told her he'd go to the ends of the earth to save her, to keep her from the inner most demons that tortured her in her sleep. The one thing Peter couldn't save her from, however, was herself. Finally he mustered enough energy to stand, steadying himself on the log. This task he found difficult, as his entire body felt like jelly, shifting beneath his weight.

In the distance, the short sound of ocean waves caught his attention. His curiosity got the best of him as he stood and made his way towards the end of the forest. The walk felt like it took forever, but in ten short steps Peter found himself standing at the edge of an oceanic abyss, with miles and miles of water in front of him, the red sunset bounced red and orange rays off the surface, painting the sky a beautiful, serene pallet of colors. Seagulls squawked in the distance and flew into the sky, disappearing in the blink of an eye. This truly was her perfect world. The warmth, the happiness, her family, a perfect job, she had it all.

Olivia had erased every memory of him from her mind, her heart, her love for him had vanished, replaced by the man who, for weeks, she loathed and would rant to Peter about. How John used her, used her emotions and her feelings towards him to make her believe he was something he wasn't. Now she happily ran to his arms, almost forgiving him for everything, anything that happened.

He fell to his knees, the soft, warm sand slipping past the threads of his jeans and into his pants. The sand scraped his knees angrily, but he felt nothing.

"Peter."

He jumped, sand flying as he heard her speak, her soft, deep voice cooing his name like a dove. Although the way she said it sounded more like an accusation than a question.

"Liv," he breathed out, unsure whether or not to burst out crying or shake with laughter. He walked towards her. He found Olivia, at last.

She took a step back, putting her hand up and stopping him. "What are you doing here, Peter?" she asked, hard and steady.

"I came to save you, Liv. Your mind is beginning to shut down, Bell's taken over your body, do you remember?"

"Of course I remember. The brief stint where I came back gave me a realization as to what he did, invading my body for his own personal gain. As far as I'm concerned, he can have it." Her words were bitter as she spoke, her tongue spitting venom. Peter stepped closer to her. She stood still, a statue tall and strong, her arms crossed over her chest defensively. "I'm happy right here where I am. The fact that you came into my conscious is revolting, you know that?"

"Liv, you need to come back with me, to wake up from this dream. It's too much, you're body is dying. He's_ literally_ killing you from the inside out." Peter talked fast and smooth, but she would have nothing of it.

Her face twisted, "Then so be it, I'm happy here. I have my family, my job. I've already gotten a glimpse of heaven, and this is it. You _lied_ to me, Peter. You lied about the shape shifters, about the machine and what you know. That doesn't change the fact that I was completely open with you about our relationship, about what I wanted out of it and you gave nothing back. I took your suggestion, and you ignored it. I trusted you Peter, the least you could have done was trust me in return."

Her words hit him like concrete, but what made it worse was the fact there was no buffer between what she thought and what she said. It was one in the same. Peter had nothing to say as she stood still, her ground firm, staring daggers into him.

"Wake up, and tell Walter to let nature take its course. I'm happy here. I have my family, my friends, my Mom and Dad." She held up her left hand where the diamond sparked. "I have John. It's all as I wished, and no one can take that away from me. Not again." Her voice cracked as she whispered. "Go home, Peter, and leave me alone."

Olivia turned and began to walk away from him, leaving Peter alone in a descending darkness to watch her once again, walk away from his life.

She didn't love him. Not anymore...

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><p><em>i can has reviews, please? Part two coming shortly! :)<br>_


	2. Part Two

**Part Two**

_"Wake up, and tell Walter to let nature take its course. I'm happy here. I have my family, my friends, my Mom and Dad." She held up her left hand where the diamond sparked. "I have John. It's all as I wished, and no one can take that away from me. Not again." Her voice cracked as she whispered. "Go home, Peter, and leave me alone."_

Olivia turned and began to walk away from him, leaving Peter alone in a descending darkness to watch her once again, walk away from his life.

She didn't love him. Not anymore.

Despair settled over Peter as he watched Olivia turn sink her heels into the sand and turned her back to him, abandoning him on the beach. The warm ocean wind against his back created goose bumps that rose, his hands and feet going numb despite the heated atmosphere around him. Once again, she walked out of his life; her head set high on the belief that she no longer need- wanted- him around her, that she so easily cast him aside for a man who was literally nothing more than a figment of her imagination.

She was right. About everything. The fact he did not make known all of his intentions to her about the treacherous secret he held about the shape shifters. The trust he misplaced when it came to their relationship and that he didn't follow his own advice about their disclosure agreement. But what made Peter borderline sick was the pure hatred in her eyes as she stared at him, telling Peter to let her dying body be, to let her go and not fight for her any longer. Pain welled inside him, turning and pulling at his heart, his veins turn to glass as his heart shattered. He felt raw. Failure. Rejection. Sorrow. Insanity. But there was one emotion that made Peter clench his fists and bring the air she pulled out of him back into his lungs and set his body on fire.

Anger.

His face muscles tightened as he drew in a quivering breath and lowered his shoulders, his lips tightening as every fiber of his being flashed over in an hot, angry inferno that drew Peter's inner soul to its feet.

"That's just like you, Olivia," he said as she neared the end of the tree line, his voice shaking with fear and heat as his blood began to boil. "That's just _fucking_ like you, you know that? To run away from a fight when you know you can't win, when you know deep down you are _wrong_!" He punctuated, "Well I'm sick and tired of watching this, of trying to set things right when I know you won't even have the decency to listen! You shut everything else out, expecting a pity party, and a _'whoa is me'_. Well you know what, _sweetheart_, I'm through with it!" Peter screamed at the top of his lungs as his voice ricocheted around the emptiness between them.

She stopped dead in her track and whipped her head around and saw the fire in his eyes as his jaw set and his hands clenched, his chest heaving to get the heat off of it. His words were thick as he screamed at her, his feet planted firmly in the sand, determination rooting him to the ground.

"Excuse me?" she said slowly, her own agitation began to rise. He actually had the audacity to say that, to call her shallow and a pity seeker, so say that she was a runner who couldn't face her own fears? To scream at her like she was a child? Did he really just call her sweetheart? She _hated_ that.

"You're right, Olivia, I didn't tell you everything, what happened with me and the other Olivia, with the shape shifters and the machine. I didn't tell you because I didn't know _how_ to tell you without you ripping me a new one for keeping a secret from you. I didn't tell you to protect you from what I had discovered." He kept the firm tone in his voice, its amplification still high. "So now knowing it, knowing why, this is what you do? Retreat to the darkest parts of your mind and imagine a perfect scenario where everything went your way, how _you_ wanted it. The Olivia I know would never look for attention like this, where everything was focused about _her_."

She began to walk towards him, anger settling across her chest as her lips flattened. She opened her mouth to offer a retort but Peter cut her off before she could.

"All this," he gestured to the beach and the forest, "This perfect, sublime world you see yourself in now is nothing than utterly selfish and small minded, believing that this is what your life was suppose to be like. It's disgusting to see this, to pretend there's no wrong-doing in the world. You were supposed to be its protector, to throw those who have hurt others in jail and here you are standing here doing the opposite, hurting those who have been nothing but supportive of you when you needed it the most. You're no better than the criminals you've locked up to rot in prison." Peter's words dripped with venom, making it sting in Olivia's ears.

She was less than a foot away from him now, her hands gripping the bottom of her shirt, her face full of fury as he continued to vent, the words rolling off his tongue.

"What about Rachel, Olivia? She relies on you for help, for safety, for security, to be her shoulder to cry on when that monster of an ex-husband she has puts her and your niece through hell on earth. What's going to happen if you're not around to keep Greg away, to tell Rachel that whatever happened was not her fault? What about Ella? She looks up to you; you are her role model, her hero, her guardian angel. How is she expected to grow up strong when the one person she looked up to throws in the towel because she has hit another rough patch her life? What about Astrid, about Broyles, about Charlie?"

Olivia winced at the mention of her former partner, and Peter saw it, a tick in the corner of her mouth. "Don't you say his name," she whispered, her eyes focused on his and shook. But Peter pressed even harder. He knew what he had to do. He had to hurt her to save her.

"Charlie relied on you for help, you were his _partner_. You were the one he turned to when he needed you the most, for advice, for a consolation, for help. He was killed trying to protect _you_, do you remember that? You're going to discard the respect and loyalty he showed you by just giving up like this? By pretending it never happened, that the sacrifice Charlie made means nothing to you?" Her eyes began to glisten in the fading light. "And you're going to honor his death by answering it with your own, this mindless version of suicide? You've got one _hell_ of a way to say thank you to him." He heard her swallow, and swallow hard. Her lip trembled.

"And John," he said and half huffed, half laughed. "You go running back to the man who confessed his undying love for you and then drove a stake right through your heart by discovering who he really was? He was a traitor, a thief, a liar for making you believe that he loved you. He _used_ you." He raised his voice even higher. This next statement was going to hit her where it hurt. "Doesn't it make your stomach cringe to know the man you were fucking on a regular basis was, and is, the same man who betrayed the country you were trying to protect? You were sleeping with a terrorist, and the only way he could hide it was to get between your legs, and the sick part of all this, is you still let him get away with murder."

"Stop it!" she screamed and slapped Peter across the face, the sharp contact with his skin sent a jolt of electricity through her body like lightening. He kept his head to the side as his cheek throbbed, trying to not let himself show pain. Her breathing had grown faster, more labored as her emotions began to get the best of her, her pulse racing at the echo of Peter's words in her head. He knew she felt it. He knew that deep down, Olivia knew he was right. Not about John, but about her.

He didn't stop. "You know what you are, Olivia, you are a coward, looking for any means of escape from some godforsaken obstacle that comes your way. Bell takes over your body and you think it's a way to simply start over and cast aside everything you've accomplished. That _we've_ accomplished. "Now, that same demon is the one who has your hand for marriage. That's grotesque to think you'd forgive him for that, for deceiving you and not me for a lie that was meant to protect you."

"And speaking of you, Peter Bishop, what the hell have you done for me?" She screamed back and got right in his face, unable to listen to him anymore as her blood reached the boiling point as her neck muscles clenched. "What have you done that makes you special? You betrayed my trust just like John. Both of you left me standing in the middle of the desert without a drop of water, so tell me, what separates you from him?"

"I came back for you, Liv!" He said, his firm, commanding voice finally cracked under the pressure. He grabbed her shoulders squeezed them with a gentle force, cementing his words into her. "I came back. _For you_." His voice dropped to nothing more than a whisper. "When you finally came home, you told me you survived because of me, because I didn't let you forget who you were." He couldn't hold them in any longer. Peter felt the tears roll down his cheeks. "Now here I am, doing the same exact thing as before; to not let you forget who you are, Olivia, and that so many people in this world need you. _That I need you_." His face shrunk as he shook his head. "Doesn't that count for anything?"

John could never do that, strip her down to nothing and make her feel vulnerable, where the slightest tap could shatter her to pieces, pulling the strings that kept her together and let Olivia fray and unravel, then stitch her back together. Peter could. He did. He had done it now. It was in Peter's eyes that she saw a fear in him she had always had hidden deep within her, the fear of losing her to herself.

Again, Olivia swallowed; her whole body trembled beneath his hands that shook equally as hard. She opened her mouth to say something but again, words could not find her. Peter spoke the truth. He had crossed into her mind twice to save her from the one thing Olivia feared the most: herself. Slowly, he raised a hand to her cheek to wipe away the tears that mirrored the ones falling from his eyes, his thumb resting at the corner of her mouth, caressing her lip gently, lovingly, forgivingly. In his eyes all the ugliness of the world seemed to melt as she raised a hand to cover his, turning her burning cheek into his ice cold hand and closed her eyes. Taking in a deep breath his scent filled her nose, unraveling her completely.

She stood in silence and saw a simple sincerity that was Peter, just Peter. The Peter that she had grown so close with over the years, the man who could make her laugh, console her when she cried, keep her warm when she was shivering, who could make her believe in hope when all seemed lost, who could hold his own in an argument with her about the smallest thing; the man who could make her feel more human than she remembered she could, who could pull out a hidden side of her, that could undress her with his eyes and peel away her armor leaving Olivia emotionally undressed, exposed, unscathed, raw and equally pure. It was the Peter that she had grown to love endlessly since the day she met him.

"I don't know who I am anymore or where I belong." Olivia whispered into his skin, her lips savored the smallest taste of his hand, her eyes falling, begging to be caught.

He moved closer to her as Olivia's hand gripped his, anchoring her to back to shore, the lifeline she needed. His other hand rested on her neck, his eyes not leaving hers. He felt her breath quiver on his lips, enticing her, making her heart rate spike and she melted at his touch as his fingers danced across her skin, moist from the cascade of tears that pooled where their skin connected, a bottomless oasis that she felt herself drowning in.

Peter gazed into her eyes and closed the gap between them and kissed her, slowly and deeply, running his fingers over her damp cheeks, pulling her into him and never wanting to let go. He cupped her face in his hands, kissing her over and over to get his point across, that no matter how awful things became between them, no matter how terrifying, he would never give up on her, even when she had. He felt her push her mouth into him, her lips begging for him to heal all the wounds she had created deep within herself, to heal her from the inside out.

"I know where you belong, where you've always belonged, since the day I met you. Come back to me, baby girl," He paused, echoing her and stared into the emerald oceans of her being and kissed her again, speaking four simple words against her lips that made Olivia's head swim and her heart stop, "_You belong with me_."

* * *

><p>She flatlined.<p>

"Walter!" Astrid cried in fear, watching Olivia's heart rate jump from a steady, humming pace to an earth shattering halt, the monitor screamed fiercely as her heart gave out and her vitals crashed down to nothing. The muscle tone in her body went flaccid and her head dipped from the top of the chair, her lips a pale, ghostly blue as she fell from the chair and fell to the ground with an agonizing _thump_. "Walter she has no pulse!" Astrid's hands shook as the palpated her neck, but found no signs of life.

"Get the defibrillator, charge to two-hundred volts," he said, the panic escalating in his voice as he reached for a syringe with atropine and injected it into her IV line. Astrid reached for the bag-valve mask and began to ventilate her ceased lungs as Walter stared at the monitor, cursing underneath his breath.

Astrid ripped the paddles from the casing and threw Olivia's shirt open, exposing her slowly graying chest. Placing the paddles she waited for the charge. "Clear!" The defibrillator fired and jolted Olivia's body off the ground, arching as the current ran across her chest. Walter cursed underneath his breath and waited, but there was no response. "Charging to three-hundred!" Astrid obliged and repeated the procedure as Walter administered another dose of atropine.

"Walter, she's still pulse less," Astrid's voice shook, tears streaming down her face as she placed her hands on Olivia's chest, beginning CPR, her arms pumping as she felt ribs crack, and Olivia's lips turn a darker blue. She cried heavily, praying Olivia to come back.

Behind him he heard Peter stir. The connection must have been broken between him and Olivia's mind, bringing Peter back to reality. Slowly, Peter shook his head as the headache began, his brain pulsating furiously as the drugs wore off. He turned to Walter and saw the fear in his eyes, then looked to where Astrid was sitting over Olivia's motionless body. Peter jumped out of the chair and grabbed his cell phone, dialing 9-1-1 and helping Astrid try and revive her.

Walter stood, and for the first time he froze, staring at Astrid as she compressed Olivia's chest and the sadness in Peter's eyes as he tried to breathe life into her body, but to no avail. Peter's voice quaked as he begged for Olivia to come back to him.

This wasn't supposed to happen. Guilt flushed over Walter as he watched the scene before him, Peter calling for his help desperately and Astrid pushing Olivia's heart to beat. He glanced over at the monitor; its steady hum didn't change as she remained asystole on the screen. Minutes passed as they continued to shock her heart and continue rounds of CPR, but no response came from Olivia. Peter and Astrid switched, his hands replacing hers as he cried, tears falling over her lifeless heart.

"Please, God, not again," he whispered and pushed the mask out of the way as Astrid ventilated her, his hands running furiously over her face as he kissed her, trying to breathe her back to him. "Come back to me, Liv." Her lips were cold as he stopped, looking at her face. She looked as scared as ever. Her eyes, her beautiful eyes were no longer green, but a pale, gravely gray, fixed and dilated.

They were too late.

Astrid resumed the compressions Peter took over as he continued to try and resuscitate her, breathing and kissing her at the same time. He cried her name over and over. Despite the weakness Astrid persevered through the pain in her arms and kept going. Minutes later the EMTs and paramedics arrived and pulled Peter off of Olivia's body, intubating her immediately and rushed her out of the lab still compressing her chest and onward to the hospital.

Astrid saw the broken man Peter has just become. He turned into her and she hugged him tightly, Peter sobbing into her shoulder as he trembled beneath her arms, sorrowful moans escaping past his lips as she dug her face into his shoulder, trying to calm him and herself at the same time, but to no avail. There were no words to be said as he held onto Astrid for dear life.

It was the second time he had Olivia close, so close to saving her, and like water through a crack, she slipped through his fingers.

Walter stood staring at the sight before him; Astrid trying to keep her strong composure and Peter losing his by the second. It wasn't supposed to happen like this. He thought they had more time before she would give out.

He had made a grave miscalculation. Not only was Bell gone, but Olivia as well. Slowly they made their way silently to the Astrid's car and made their way to the hospital. Normally she didn't abuse the power of emergency lights but today she made an exception. Navigating expertly through the streets of Boston they arrived at the valet front, flashed her badge and left the car, running down the hallway to the emergency room. Before they could burst through the door, security stopped them.

Peter's emotions got the best of him as he fought back, screaming and cursing at the guards, begging him to be let through so he could see her. Walter grabbed his son as Peter cried, pulling him down to the floor and felt Peter curl into him, gripping Walter tightly for support. He didn't care of the scene they had made. Still trying to be strong, Astrid made her way calmly over to the secretary and explained the situation, but still, no answers were given.

All they could do was wait.

What felt like hours later the doors opened as a doctor in bright blue scrubs entered and made their way to the grieving trio. "Peter Bishop?" he asked into the crowd, waiting to see who would claim the woman in the emergency room. "Dr. Webster."

"I'm Peter Bishop, Doctor." He shook his hand and shook it, "Please, tell me you have good news." His voice croaked, tired and worn.

Dr. Webster crossed his arms over his chest and sighed. "She was indeed heavily drugged, the LSD you gave her was too much, she overdosed just as it peaked through her system, that's what caused the cardiac arrest I'm willing to bet. While the downtime wasn't long, and the CPR you provided was adequate to sustain her, there was too much in her system to make anything viable for life. Her kidneys shut down, as well as many of her vital organs, including her brain, which, under normal circumstances, she would leave her brain dead, and no visible signs of life."

Peter dropped his head and felt his heart sink. He couldn't save her after all. "Was it peaceful, painless?" he asked, and the Doctor nodded a reassuring yes. "When can I see her?"

"That's why I'm here, Mr. Bishop. Ms. Dunham is asking for you." The Doctor looked at his face as it froze with confusion. "Like I said, under normal circumstances, she should have no viable brain functions, her kidneys should be in failure, and be in respiratory arrest. What's interesting is that after the paramedics brought her here, we began our normal resuscitation procedure, but there was no response. After about twenty minutes we saw nothing, and I was going to call time of death. That's when she woke up, and began calling your name. Her vitals restored to well within normal ranges, and her brain function showed no signs of damage. It was like her body had had a total reset and was simply taking a while to reboot."

Peter collapsed into the chair and took in a deep breath for the first time in over two minutes, his head dizzy and spinning. "She's alive," he muttered and the Doctor nodded, sitting next to him. He began to laugh as he cried, joy flooded through his system. If anyone could survive an LSD overdose and a cardiac arrest and come out swinging, it'd be Olivia.

"Very much alive, yes, a little lethargic and fatigued, but alive. We have her medicated for pain and are treating her for some minor renal issues, and monitoring her, waiting for the levels of the drugs in her system to recede so we can evaluate her further. We'll be keeping her over the next few days for further evaluation but once her lab values come back into normal ranges and everything else checks out, she'll be discharged home." He smiled at Peter, then to Astrid and Walter. "Whatever you guys did in that lab, you saved her life, and whether or not the LSD played a part in it we may never know. She owes you both her life."

Peter simply nodded and felt Astrid's arm come around his shoulders and squeeze him, her face shining with tears as she smiled. With the bad, came the god-awfully scare that sent them all through the roof.

"Patricia," he called to the receptionist, "Please give Mr. Bishop a visitor's pass, if anyone complains tell them to come to me." The receptionist nodded and handed Peter the pass as he turned to Walter and Astrid. They motioned for him to go; they'd catch up in a bit. "Follow me."

Peter stood, his legs shaking like Jell-O was he followed the Doctor down the hallway to a corner room that was lit low, the solitary sound of the monitors beeping away with her heart. He came to the doorway and stopped, gazing down upon her with careful eyes, to not break her again. Dr. Webster left as Peter slowly and quietly entered the room. She was asleep in the bed, her head resting gently against the pillows.

Olivia was still pale; her lips tinged a slight bluish red as she breathed slowly and shallow, wincing slightly at the pain in her chest. She turned her head carefully towards him; a tired and small smile fell across her lips, her eyes groggy with sleep and morphine. It was her. His Olivia. Bell was gone, leaving her alone in her glory. Peter thought his tear ducts dried up, but they began to fall again, a new found spring running.

He grabbed a chair and sat next to her, leaning his elbows on the bed and taking her hand delicately in his. It was cool, pale and perfect. He licked his dry lips and smoothed the matted hair across her face, tucking a strand behind her ear.

"Hey stranger," he whispered to her, her eyelids falling lower and lower. He bit his lip as she pulled his hand to her lips and kissed it, placing it on her cheek and kissed his palm. He trembled at her fragile and cool touch. She tried to speak, but couldn't, her throat still irritated from the intubation. "Don't speak, Liv." Although her voice was the one thing in the world he wanted to hear. "Sleep, sweetheart, I'll be here when you wake up."

She smiled, the full effects of the pain medication taking effect again. Motioning with her finger, he moved closer, his ear by her lips "Call me sweetheart again," she rasped, slowly and quietly, and swallowed dry air, "I'd like that."

He huffed, and let the tears flow once again as she drifted peacefully off into sleep, her fingers laced between his. She had come through the storm with flying colors and anchored to Peter, once again, making it safely home.

* * *

><p>When Olivia opened her eyes she squinted at the dim light from the hallway, cutting through the darkness in her room. It wasn't bright, but enough to make her head twinge. She looked around the hospital room in a small confusion. The last thing she remembered as standing at Harvard in an office staring at a computer, then to Peter, a look of dismay on her face as he told her his grave secret. He was the shape shifter killer. The second image that flashed across her memory was her in Peter's kitchen in a bath robe sipping a cup of tea. Then again, nothing. Absolutely nothing.<p>

Once her vision cleared she followed the side of the bed to where a gentle pressure came from her fingers. Next to her leg Peter sat hunched over the bed asleep, a small line of drool dangling down across his lips as he snored lightly. He looked awful. His face was pale, his hair a mess and his eyelids were swollen and his nose red. Had he been in a fight, was he hurt? But the way he sat, his face had a strange peace made her push those questions out of her head.

She reached across the bed and ran her fingers through his hair, careful not to disturb him. At the brush of her hand he stirred, inhaling deeply and swallowed, wiping his lip and lifted his head an inch off the bed, his eyes still masked with sleep. She exhaled shortly at the look on his face as he turned his head towards her again and yawned, dropping his head to the mattress as she traced the line of stubble on his chin. He looked absolutely exhausted as he rubbed his face against the sheets, scratching away his fatigue.

"You look like crap," she whispered, her throat aching with dryness.

Peter's eyes were still closed as he smiled. "I can't say you look much better," he lifted his stiff body from the bed and moved closer to her, kissing her gently. "But if I said that, I'd be lying." He reached behind him and grabbed the pitcher of ice water and filled a cup, helping her drink it slowly and she dropped her head against the pillow again.

"How long," she asked and licked her dry lips, "have I been out of it? What happened?"

He placed an ice chip on her lips, wetting them. "Officially, a few weeks, four or five at the most. I don't know if you're ready for the why." She nodded, giving him the declaring yes. Peter sighed. "William Bell. Through some dastardly plan… possessed you, took over your body and put your consciousness at rest while Bell and Walter played house."

Her eyes scrunched, "I was possessed?" she asked and Peter nodded, "That's… awkward. Not the strangest thing we've seen but definitely awkward." A disconcerting, yet humoring thought crossed her mind and she cocked her head. "So if Bell was in my body did we," her voice trailed off as she gestured between them and Peter laughed.

"You really think I'd try and put the moves on my father's best friend who happened to inhabit the body of my girlfriend?" He flashed a smile at her. "I couldn't even be in the same room as Bell without wanting to strangle him."

"So how did I get here?" she sat up in bed slowly, grimacing at the pain in her chest as it took her breath away.

Peter's smile faded. "That's the weird part. Walter gave you, and me, some of his original recipe LSD." Before she could ask why he continued, "Because Bell being in your body was killing your consciousness, pushing you deeper and deeper away until eventually your body couldn't handle it. With the LSD, I was able to," he paused, gauging her reaction. "I entered your mind, and attempted to pull your consciousness back to us. Walter overdosed you, sent you into cardiac arrest. You… you died, Olivia, and by whatever miracle came back to us."

Her eyebrows scrunched together as she took in what Peter was telling her, her curiosity spiked. "So you accessed my mind," she grinned, "Like that movie with Leonardo DiCaprio." Peter nodded as she raised an eyebrow. "Find anything interesting?" She watched as his face flattened, a hidden emotion of uncertainty crept across his forehead. Her small smile quickly faded as Peter sighed, turning his eyes down to the floor.

"You were engaged to him weren't you." He asked, more a statement than a question, "When you convinced me to leave Iraq, you and John were engaged." He watched her bite her lip and look away, a long kept secret she had not disclosed to him. Years ago, sometimes when she was dressing she'd come across the ring, tucked away and out of sight in her jewelry box and pick it up, the familiar weight returning to her left ring finger. She'd push it back to the corner as the memories of John came back.

She chewed her lip, trying to find what to say. "Almost engaged. But that was a long time ago, when I thought he was the one I wanted to spend my life with, Peter," she said, her voice flat. "Before I knew who John really was, when I thought he was a traitor."

Peter shook his head and huffed, "Thought? Olivia, he _was_ a traitor."

Olivia shook her head, "He was working for a secret branch of government, Black Ops." Peter's face dropped. "He was supposed to look like a traitor to everyone, even me, to earn the trust of those he was working with and eventually bring them down. He didn't tell me to protect me, but he was going to. He did in the last time I went in the tank and told me everything. That's when he proposed. In reality, no, we were never engaged, but for a while I liked to pretend we were. Before I really got to know you, and figure out how amazing you are, Peter."

He swallowed. "Do you remember anything, anything we talked about when I was… in your head?"

Olivia bounced her head slowly, eyes searching the walls. "Bits and pieces, yes." The tension between them began to rise, Peter could feel it. "I remember seeing you in my room at my mother's house in Jacksonville, the other Olivia's mother was in Tarrytown. I… remember being on a beach, seeing you standing in the sand, and you were crying."

Peter nodded. "You had told me," he said quietly, "that you didn't want to come back to reality, to let your body die so you could keep living the life you had, and," his voice quivered, "You told me to leave you. That you were happy with the life you were now living, in whatever dream world you were in." Olivia nodded slightly, the conversation they had started to replay over in her head, echoing in her ears.

"That I wanted to stay with John, and my mother and father," her voice trailed as she saw the hurt in his eyes, "That I didn't want to be with you. Because you lied, about the shape shifters, about the machine," she began to echo herself. "That I wanted to be with John."

Peter said nothing, confirming her recollection. He still kept her hand wrapped in his, squeezing it gently, a question ached in his throat. "Do… do you still think about him, Liv, about what your life would be like with John?"

Olivia ran her fingers through her hair slowly. She didn't want to have this conversation with him, about her dead ex-traitor to not traitor boyfriend and her feelings for him. But at this point it was unavoidable. Peter had come clean about everything. This time, it was her turn.

"I think about him all the time; anniversaries we would never celebrate, holidays we would never cook for, even arguments we would never have. I've always wondered what it would be like if we were together, but then I realize something. If John hadn't done what he did, I wouldn't have the crazy job I have now, working with people who I care about so very much. Astrid, Walter," she thumbed his chin, "You. I wouldn't have you. John gave me an incredible gift when he died. He gave me a second shot at a family and I can never be more thankful for that." She turned his face back towards hers. "A part of me will always love him, Peter, but the rest is yours, indefinitely and absolutely yours."

Peter let her words sink in as he placed his elbow on the bed and rested his head on his hand, reading her, a new open book that surprised him with ever turn of the page. Deep down he knew a part of her heart would always belong to John, and that had scared him, that she would fall out of love with him for a man who was no more than a figment of her imagination. But he couldn't help agree. If it weren't for John they wouldn't be here, sitting in a hospital room and once again putting the past behind them.

He said nothing as he stood and sat on the edge of her bed, wrapping his arm around her sore shoulder. Olivia scooted over, wincing as she did so letting Peter pull his legs up and help the blood flow back to his feet. He shimmied down next to her, rubbing her shoulder gently, and kissed her forehead, letting his lips linger on her hairline. She turned slowly and snuggled close to him, her head resting in the crevice of his neck, breathing him into her, a reviving sense of belonging that was all him.

The pump behind her beeped as another dose of pain medication was given, making her eyes grow heavy once again, and a small smile resting across her lips. There would be time to argue and fight later, but for now all he wanted to do was sleep, knowing that he'd wake up next to her, knowing that she would be there, no longer trying to escape from whatever disaster that played in her head, that she could crawl into his heart and find refuge from the outside world, and find that within Peter she could seclude herself from all the pain, and all the hurt, that within him she found her safest place to hide.

They were given a second chance that not many people were given. Olivia was alive, she would be fine and they could start fresh, putting all that had happened in a box and leave it in an attic, tucked away in a corner. Her words still lingered on his mind. If it weren't for John Scott, he wouldn't have Walter, or Astrid. He wouldn't have this little dysfunctional family that he had grown to love. He wouldn't have found a woman who could drive him insane and aggravate him enough to want to make Peter rip his hair out, and love him for all his faults. He wouldn't have Olivia to make his heart whole, a possibility that he had long forgot since his mother died. He smiled slightly.

Despite what he thought, maybe John Scott wasn't that bad after all.

* * *

><p><em>I re-wrote this chapter about ten times, I hope you enjoyed it! Reviews appreciated!Final part coming soon!<br>_


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